


Thursday

by unkissed



Series: Days of the Week: 100-word Drabbles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #TieUpTheodoreThursday, Consensual Violence, Explicit Language, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Thursdays, Theodore goes through all of Draco's ties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> #ThwackTheodoreThursday became #TieUpTheodoreThursday, and begged for a days-of-the-week 100-word drabble. But I definitely needed more than 100 words for this one.
> 
> For that Draco with the Dior cufflinks.

On Thursdays, I go through all of his ties. They’re catalogued in a deliberate hierarchal system. First by color, then subcategorized by texture, and lastly by maker. I always have to suppress the part of me that gets off on chaos to resist the urge to rearrange them randomly.

It is a cathartic ritual to stand naked in his walk-in closet and let my fingertips brush over the expensive fabrics with my eyes closed, after I’ve showered in the morning, when my hands are their cleanest, and my mind is its clearest. I let the different textiles and embroidered patterns sing to me in a silken whisper before choosing one. I can tell what color it is without looking at it, just by its location on the rack. Once its divested from its little nook, I still don’t open my eyes. I caress my cheek with it and form a picture of him wearing it in my mind. When I open my eyes, I usually find that my expert guess is correct.

The ceremony continues in the bedroom. I drape the tie over the undersides of my wrists, sink to my knees, and present myself to him. My arms are raised in a sacrificial offering. He kisses my forehead and sighs quietly. I know he does this with a heavy heart. But he knows that I need this. He understands that the demons inside me scream unbearably unless he placates them. Once a week. That’s all I ever ask of him, even when the demons are greedy and tear at my skin from the inside, making me itch for more.

He binds my wrists together tightly enough that my bones seem to scrape together. Then he lays me on the bed and I surrender. I surrender my body and my soul to him. I surrender to the demons’ darkest demands. And even though Draco doesn’t need it, the demons require my abject submission. And it kills him to do it, but the demons will only be silenced when I’ve paid with my pain. 

He hates that it makes him so hard to tie me to the railings of his wrought iron bed, to watch me writhing in anguish, to fuck me without preparation, to listen to me cry out like I’m dying beneath him. He hates to deny me pleasure, to divest me of control, to deprive me of tenderness. But that is precisely what makes me hard enough to shatter like glass.

He swallows his reservations every time because he loves me – because he knows that he is part of the reason I am like this – why I can’t feel complete without the agony of loving him to balance the bliss of him loving me.


End file.
